


you give me fireflies.

by cruorecuore



Category: The Good Doctor (TV 2017)
Genre: Bad Flirting, Bad Jokes, Canon Autistic Character, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drinking to Cope, Falling In Love, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I'm Bad At Summaries, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jealous Shaun, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Marijuana, Neck Kissing, Neil Melendez Lives, Neil Too, Netflix and Chill, One Shot Collection, Panic Attacks, Recreational Drug Use, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Self-Harm, Shaun Murphy Is a Terrible Liar, Some Characters Added as They Come, Suicide Attempt, Walks On The Beach
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:21:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23960737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruorecuore/pseuds/cruorecuore
Summary: A collection of unrelated Murlendez one-shots.
Relationships: Neil Melendez/Shaun Murphy
Comments: 8
Kudos: 114





	1. Peaches & Cream.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaun injures himself during a breakdown and Neil walks into it.

The brief realisation of his superior's presence in his own does some to ease his nature as his hands stop for a moment from marking at his face. Melendez eyed the drops of maroon fluid seeping against the shattered mirror and the tiled flooring, sticking out like a sore thumb. It was an overall estrangement for Neil even with Murphy's profession, because the blood did not belong to a patient. The short-lived linkage of their eyes does not last long, as it appeared as though an intangible cloud of recollections brushed over Shaun's eyes, and he'd pulled into that grotesque way of thinking. Melendez merely breathed through his teeth before Shaun began to impale the flats of his palms at his head repeatedly, treating his frustration and uncertainty in the only way he knew how.

Neil opposed to it, sternly demurring the abrupt change in manner by calling his name— as if he'd truly believe it would work. He didn't, but he did it anyways. He glanced down at his hands, still likely disinfected and unwashed, and grimacing, he moved forward to unrelentingly seize ahold of either wrist, bleeding or not. “Murphy, Murphy,” he'd speak to him repeatedly, entirely discounting the hellbent thrashing and all the little cries that come along with it. And he'd continue to call him, redirecting down to a more softer tone from the unyielding demands of him from before, and once he made sure Shaun had somewhat maintained his composure, he would let go. “Gonna let you go now, alright?”

Even though his tone was somewhat bland, thoroughly deficient of any signs that would show that he cared, Shaun disregarded it entirely. He took a sharp intake of air through his nose, rather eagerly nodding and clenching his fists. Neil quirked a brow and hesitantly released his grasp. Shaun allows his clenched limbs to fall down at his sides, which had to be a strange feeling as he quickly decided that he hadn't liked it. His hands come up to flounder uselessly in the air around him. Neil watched silently, sees the lawless manner in the way those prominent blues burn and grow glossy, and though clarion tears were in lieu of his sharp barking, he greatly preferred it. He moved to stand in front of a sink and though it was clean of blood, it held a few shards of glass. His tanned arms come beneath the faucet to wash away the bacteria, and as he does so, Shaun turns towards him, fists clenched and all. Neil could say something but either way, it hadn't mattered. Shaun's mouth opens, and Neil stops for a moment. “You are pitying me.”

An addition to vaguely elucidate the situation, as if he needed it. Neil isn't sure whether to allay his brass-bound exterior or to keep it there, so instead, he exhales and moves to dry his hands. “I never said that.”

“You are. I can see it,” Shaun repeats, evidently showing that his mind was fixated on the thought and would not loiter from it. “I don't want your pity.”

Neil listens to his voice break as he tosses away the soiled tissue, and with mindful diligence, he faced the other who is angry, beyond leaking tears, skin blemishing pink. He was never particularly fond of his mental collapses, would generally avoid them. He would simply listen from another room or afar, with a frown, to show his efficiency. “Then what _do_ you want, Murphy?” Neil's face twists into dispassion. He allows his voice to be austere, stiffly insisting on an answer but he already knew. The question was not needed, and he wasn't relatively sure whether Shaun knew that, himself.

Neil's scrutiny descended from the little cuts of his hands to the degrading ones on his knuckles, which were no longer dainty concrete-like scrapes but tears, adorned of lustrous pieces of glass that could show Neil his reflection if he looked hard enough. The man's sudden shortfall of words would virtually send Melendez into a surge of bitter amusement, and to his dread, the corner of his lips curve upwards, and a huff is released from his nose. “I want,” Shaun breathed, more or less choking on the need to remain stable, determinedly blinking off the dampness. “I want- I _want_ —”

“It's okay to not know what you want,” Neil interrupted, more than well-informed that his words were not going to lead them anywhere. He conscientiously lifts his palms, a vigilant guide to assist in further easing the man who began to almost hyperventilate, much to his annoyance. “Not everyone will be able to understand or accept your feelings and the way you think. It goes for me, too. Browne and Kalu. Your girlfriend? _Neighbour_?” He raises his brows, faintly smiling at the unnerved twist of the other's features. “Things aren't always peaches and cream, Murphy.”

“What does peaches and cream—”

“It will be alright, Murphy, is what I'm trying to say.”

Shaun would preserve his movements, pale fingers moving together as his gaze perpetually twitched around the room. He does that weird mix of a smile and huff of disbelief. “I don't agree with you.”

Neil looked at him gravely. “You don't have to.”

The surgical resident surveyed him wordlessly, for no more than a few brisk seconds before he began to nod. He extended his arms as far as they could go, ambitiously shutting his eyes as he bear his rather rigid body against Neil's, who vaguely permits the softness of hair against his cheek and the dent of a chin onto his shoulder. Neil elevated a brow just after some loose nip of chests and the very faint sensation of misgivings and second-thoughts as the resident faltered to release. He'd done so quickly, nonetheless. “That was strange,” Shaun says merely, smiling guiltlessly, glancing around as to repudiate another gaze. His joints are unusually taunt as he backed away, a little further than need. Melendez sees him begin to shift and bounce on his heels as his bleeding hands play with one another. “Dr. Glassman told me hugs can release oxytocin to lower stress hormones. You look stressed.” 

Melendez would disconcertingly furrow his features. He was not the one bleeding but he would save the young resident that question and another about his possible aphenphosmphobia. Shaun would go on another rant, and he didn’t want that now. “It's alright.” Murphy's lips move to mouth another audible apology, though it faltered as the older man lifted a palm to halt him. “Let's just go see check out those wounds, okay?” 

“Okay.”


	2. 14 Faces.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil invites Shaun to the beach for a date. Things don’t go all bad.

The sky was not the vivid orange or blue it was that morning, but a greying pink, thoroughly prolific of a number of obscure clouds. The air is blustery but not enough to level anything down. Neil Melendez is propped over the silver railing of the boardwalk, wrists crossed over as he gandered over the sight of the beach. His translucent mind was not at all mantled by the usual multitude of worrying thoughts, but is a little clouded from his tendency to evaluate even the littlest things. He does not fail to pickup on the metrical footsteps and the velvety voice that accompanied it. “Dr. Melendez?”

Neil pivots slightly, just enough to see him but still be perched against the railing. Murphy is dressed in a slate button-up tucked into trousers, hands neatly folded together. “I thought I said to dress casual,” he smiled faintly. “And we're not in a work setting.”

“This is casual,” Shaun tells him, discreetly airing his hands over his choice of attire.

Neil is solemnly amused, puffing through his teeth as his hands overlap together, unthinkingly similar to the latter. “It's not. You're just missing your white coat.” In the course of the moment, the attending complied with the action of striping himself of his black hoodie, leaving him in a same-coloured shirt that is rather thin around his build. Shaun, as still as a mouse, glance twitching between the view of Neil's offering and the overcast sky above. And when his attending knowingly administered his brows upwards, Shaun slips into it reluctantly.

Their pleasant tread along the beach boardwalk started with Melendez, turning over a shoulder as a gesture for Murphy to follow, who does it rather quickly. No motley sky beat the sight of Murphy sporting an estranged garment. Actually, it looked rather surreal, as if Murphy wasn’t the man that partially lacked uncouthness. Either way, it looked as if he belonged. And he did. Murphy catches his gaze, doesn’t necessarily need to see it, but can sense it just as well when they turn the left end of the railing and into the heaps of cold sand. “I don’t like the beach.”

His hands are folded by his chest, compared to Neil’s, pensive about its fitting whereabouts. Neil doesn’t linger on that, however, just commends on those words as if they were some lucky tune on the radio. Shaun is unmoving by the railing, and Neil mirrors him but is on the sand. He lifts a brow. “Is it that bad?”

Shaun’s wordless retort earns him a careful once-over, a prompt examination of his fair-skinned features which is not in the slightest altered. Shaun probably does not realise it himself; is actually inert, deep in thought with an evocation that can may or may not be revolving around his family. A restrained tilt of his chin and the wavering of his blue eyes shows that he is alert, as of visual and perceivable means. Neil took well into consideration that the chary offer of his palm could easily be considered a little wide off the mark, could spiral him into a tender predicament. What he does not foresee is the brunet hesitantly lift his fist in the air, allows it to dither there for a moment until the tangible contact of skin is met.

Melendez is over the moon with an unseen smile of delight, faithfully towing the young resident with him. He does not ignore the way his pale hand clenches and unclenches in his own hand, undoubtedly unsure and unfamiliar by the feeling. Shaun’s other hand is in front of his chest, still, but his eyes are set on the ocean. “You holding up alright?”

Neil’s face is turned towards the man, abundant with visible concern. “It is very lovely,” Shaun tells him simply. He isn’t mindless of the question. That was just Shaun, and Neil’s worry fades away on the spot.

“It is, Shaun. It’s very lovely.”

An expeditious strive for Shaun’s alleviation, an advance for intimate contact does not last long. Shaun’s hand is dealt between Neil’s two, and when the vacantness between their faces begin to close, Shaun glances away. “I am hungry.”

**___________**

Settled beneath the enticing roof of a shop and onto thin wooden stools, Neil observed the man in front of him with a vague smile. The surgeon had brought him to his favourite restaurant, which was located by the beach where Neil knowingly invited him to. To him, the beach was a refuge, a place he often found himself returning to to seek solace whenever his inner demons was one too many to handle. Shaun finishes the last of his water, habitually interlacing his fingers once the glass had been set down. “I am finished.”

The older of the pair beat the younger’s hand, rashly discarding some bills and extra change onto the counter and then easily finding the way to stand. Shaun would delicately thank him, to which would be highly regarded with a mere wordless nod. He stands by as the man stared at the gauzy doors, grimaced at the scenery that is angry with downpour. “What a great time.”

“It is not a great time,” Shaun replied slowly, and when he is met with a stoned face, he nods. “That was sarcasm.”

Neil was not sure whether that was a question, possibly an observation, maybe both, but Neil ventured for a non-verbal greeting nonetheless, even if Murphy's glance is firmly settled on the vacant space above Neil's left shoulder. He irons his lips together, neglecting the urge to retort something smart or state the obvious. "My car is at least a few blocks away. It's practically raining cats and dogs out there.”

It had to be a minute's silence reflecting on the manner of which the gaunt man had shifted, face routinely blank as he thoroughly searched the room after noting Neil's unresolved chuckle. “That makes absolutely no sense. It is not possible for animals to fall from the sky. That is rain, and rain is water. And water is—”

“It's a metaphor, Shaun. Means that it’s raining hard enough to seem like animals.”

Neil had not one clue how he'd forgotten the fact that the man was unusually sedulous, work-related or not, and his persistence to dither on subjects was nothing less eternal. It was nothing less than gladdening, and surprising, that he had, in fact, dropped it. “Do you happen to have an umbrella?”

Neil gave him a miffed glance.

**___________**

The dart back to the car was nothing less than godawful. The ample rain had marinated through their clothing without effort, cooled the skin beneath enough to cause frostbite. Shaun was manifestly shuddering, hugging either arm dearly to his chest when they had reached the car. He was not upset, was actually more mirthful than anything considering their lowdown circumstances. Neil eyed the man beneath the cloud’s heavy shower, took note of Murphy’s tawny drenched hair and pale skin, even the droplets that hung on his lashes. The car is opened without a hitch, but somehow Shaun beats him inside, shoes squeaking as he moved to sit comfortably. Neil locked the doors, ignoring the rather loud thudding of rain against the windows. He glances to the other who warms his hands between his thighs as his head is cranes towards the window to his right. “You're soaked,” he observed aloud, with a faint tone of amusement.

Murphy looked to not be affected by any part of it, pale hands together in front of his chest as he faintly smiled. His glance tumbled around, “I don’t mind it. I like water.”

Neil diverted his hands to the wheel, clicking in the key to start up the engine. “But not the ocean?”

“You are cold,” he says, eyeing the goosebumps on tanned skin while mindfully steering clear of the suggested subject.

It was a partly true observation according to Neil himself, who thinks twice as if a glance at the man was the right thing to do. He smiled, nonetheless. “So are you.”

Shaun would turn away, seemingly preoccupied by the water that would perpetually sheen over the tinted window. The startup and drive was taciturn but not defective, complemented by tires on puddles or the clinking on glass. The course of a hand towards the knob of the radio garnered Shaun’s attention even through the bareness of the corner of his eye. It almost startled Neil. “Is.. music, alright?”

A hesitant nod is all it takes, the knob already swivelled to stimulate our music. The song is alternative, almost in nature to soft rock but it hadn’t mattered. What mattered was the words. Shaun could hear the singer’s voice singing it, but could only hear Lea. They were paused in the middle of traffic and beneath pouring rain when Shaun spoke, seemingly from nowhere. “Lea taught me how to drive.”

Neil glanced over, elbow perched on the side of the window with his chin against his fist when the passenger side brims his vision. “Oh?” Neil's fingers retreated to the wheel as soon as the light had burned green.

“It was in a parking lot.” Shaun's thumbs and neck twitched commensurably as his solemn blues search the car, not for anything particular. “I did okay.”

“I'm surprised to hear that you didn't crash,” Neil smirked.

“I hit an animal.”

Melendez was able to slip in a glance, a modest spike of solicitude treading at his chest. Murphy’s face had not changed, even with a blatant statement such as that. With the audio still lowly blaring through the hum of the vehicle and the abrupt change in aura, Melendez found it in him to smile. “Assuming you’re alright, I don’t suppose you got your license?”

“No. I crashed into a stop sign at the driver’s test.” How.. ironic. To a limited degree, Melendez was relieved. He’d seen the way the man broke down, the severity. It was nothing that should be even remotely permitted on the road, and as harsh as it sounded, Melendez truly believed it. It was nothing like surgery. “My apartment is right here,” Shaun tells him, daubing a finger at the car window and Neil does not waste a second to stop.

Neil watched Shaun unbuckle his seatbelt, and in the process a euphoric wave, something similar to the after-effects of grief waved over him. Enraptured on the pair of lips, he had attempted another meaningful act of intimacy, something to finish off the night because it’d been a hell of a day, but Shaun knowingly glances the other way, unaffected. “I will not kiss you. You had pickles in your sandwich.” He’d duck down from the door entry, aligning his posture with folded hands as he maintained a somewhat shuddery gaze towards Neil’s direction. Though the rain was much lighter it still thudded down against Murphy's unprotected face, re-soaking his hair and features. Neil states with silence, breath brutally taken from him although he still provides physical evidence of his amusement. He would wait for the passenger door to shut, and when it hadn’t, with the worrying prolonged silence omit the rain hitting the concrete, he diverted his full attention to Murphy, who bows his head just enough to see his face. “Thank you, Neil.”

Neil eyes him wordlessly, lips a shade parted for an answer before he realises he just might not have one. He, again, bores at the droplets leaking down Shaun's skin. It looked as if he were in a shower. He smiled, though faintly. “Have a good night, Shaun.”

His surgical resident nods at him, mirroring his faint smile though not by intentional means. “Thank you,” he replies, a little more softly than before. “I will wash and return your jacket tomorrow.” Not a ‘ _good night_ ,’ or even a mere, ‘ _you too_ ,’ but just the answer Melendez expected to hear. He smiled, even if Shaun was not there to see or perceive it, to even question it. The man was already quickly dashing for his apartment building, holding the edges of his hood, and despite the series of honks behind his car, Melendez only watches him go.


	3. Seeking Solace.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil has a bad day, and Shaun finds a way to make it all okay, even if it’s not by intentional means.

It seemed as if fortune was never on his side, and when it had, was never the reoccurring friend he needed it to be. To say that the day was uneventful was the epitome of an understatement. Melendez had been insouciantly moving for a cup of freshly brewed coffee when the mirroring doors nearly swung off its hinges; inside rushed a manifold of stretchers, shouting paramedics, and heaps of sanguinary bodies, too many to count. The strenuous surgeries coupled by a number of perennial strains had bouldered onto him, left his back, joints, and brain aching. Not to mention his very disobedient, fluctuating moods that had him barking unneeded insults towards his residents, and occasionally the patients.

That was not including the final juncture of the day when Melendez had moved to get another coffee, to finally sip at a simple drink that gave him that small palliation of his worries because he couldn't have the first, when he'd spilt the entire thing on himself. On his scrubs, no less. Neil had been in the middle of a searing argument with himself when Shaun carefully slipped into the room, virtuously eying the man scrape a tissue over his shirt hard enough to friction up a fire. “Mistakes can happen. You were just unlucky.”

He sought out the man's volatile gaze, which was unreasonably absorbed on the ceilings or some signs or posters, and occasionally attempting to remain on the man himself. The desire to unfetter all of his stress and inner annoyance all on the young resident was overbearing, but not unbearable. “Thank you.. for that, Murphy. Really.”

“You're welcome.” Neil would turn to lour at him, but of course, their eyes are not connected. He lifts a hand to knead at his forehead. He knew the man would likely be unable to perceive his tone, yet that velvety voice still withdrew him from his gladdening thoughts. Shaun's steel eyes immediately tread away from the sudden focus that had been brought to himself. “That was sarcasm, wasn't it, Dr. Melendez?” Neil does not need to say a word or give much more than a rigid tilt of the head for Shaun to understand. He's quiet, just for a moment, nodding, and just as Neil thinks he has gone into another percipient trance, Shaun audibly breathes through his nose. “I will be right back. Please, do not move!”

Neil hadn't the chance at even blinking before the young resident briskly ran out of the room, hands moulded together. Perhaps it was wrong of him to decide that the probability that arrogance was Shaun's desired subject was close to slim, but a conversation about his supposed arrogance was not something Neil wanted, nor needed right now. A requisite breath leaves his tongue and the sight of coffee poured over his scrubs does not help it. The door opened again, and in came Murphy like a bat out of hell, elbows folded in front of his chest and a napkin neatly spread over his palms.

He stood just short of Melendez, and regardfully, his lips slowly expose his teeth into an eery smile, ”I got you a doughnut.”

Melendez momentarily wonders if Shaun's objective was to scare him with that smile. He hesitantly takes the doughnut, thinking to himself at how the man just narrated the obvious, his eyes strictly on Murphy who easily avoids his gaze. “A doughnut, and.. either the sun came up, or you just smiled at me.”

He finds it necessarily hard to mirror Shaun's physical attempt at generosity, he's just very in shock. The man then nods, beginning to tamper with his hands from the likeliness that he had breached his mind with a number of thoughts. “Dr. Andrews said it was good to smile and it would make other people smile. And the sun is already—”

“You don't smile for anyone or anything, Shaun. Something happened.”

Shaun shifted away. “I am flirting with you, Dr. Melendez.” He says it carefully, with some fragility as if it was something he shouldn't say. His voice was typically bland of any sentiment, almost in comparison to a robot, and this time was no different. It sounded as if it were some alternative suggestion for surgery and not some coquettish scoop. “I was not supposed to tell you that.” 

Shaun smiled nervously. If Neil hadn't had such a durable handle over his self-preservation, he would've laughed. It does remotely turn into some coalesce of a chuckle and a snort of disbelief, but it did not relieve Shaun's hopes as anticipated. Actually, the man looked quite worried, and it sent him into a spiral of explanation. “I was told to do something nice. Jared gave me a ‘pick-up line,’ but I did not use it because I did not understand it. Claire also gave me one.”

Neil turned over a shoulder, face buckling from interest to an extent. Because Murphy's elected words and the manner of wording those words had went indisputably unheeded, Neil finds his knuckle to breathe into, plaiting his brows. “Who's idea was it?”

“It was Morgan's.”

Morgan. Of course. “I appreciate that, Shaun. Thank you.” Neil smiled down at the gift, though he never had disregarded the prior afflictions; the pungent smell of coffee on his clothes or the subdued twinge in his skull. The resident is quick to turn on his heels after nodding eagerly at the words of gratitude, leaving Melendez to solicitously watch him. “Murphy. Wait.”

Said resident turns, sedated features gandering the room in curiosity, hands absentmindedly folding each finger with another. Melendez gives him a knowing look, although to Shaun it may have gone completely enigmatic. “You hungry?”

Shaun clamps his hands into fists that raise, not at all needing a smile to express his euphoria. Without a hitch, he flies by the surgeon, undoubtedly for the hospital door. Melendez trails after him, rapturous. He'd talk to Kalu, Reznik, maybe Browne, but at least the day hadn't ended as bad as the way it started.


	4. Proxemics, But Maybe I Like You. (Pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil shows up at Shaun’s house, intoxicated, and some things are said.

Neil Melendez was not a man that lingered on events or too much of his past. A woman had been rushed into the hospital the morning prior, skin almost mauve with contusions. She had refused to clarify on the only debilitated detail she'd given; that her injuries were caused from her abusive spouse, who'd only visited once but had turned on his heels just before entering. “Her husband is a derisory excuse for a man,” Neil would tell his residents as they sliced the woman open on the O.R table. “He’s a coward.”

Things would go alright and the woman would live. He was assertive with his and his team's capabilities, but there was a malfunction in the surgery. They would attempt to repair an injury which would cause another, like a domino effect, for a good few hours until she succumbed to irreparable wounds, hypovolemia, and a lack of blood flow to her brain. Dr. Lim, the austere yet, sure-fire of a woman would warm his shoulder for a half-hearted attempt at comfort once they were out of the room and washing their hands. “It’s not your fault. You did everything you could.”

He’d tell her he didn't care. Upraised with a number of shot glasses, Neil Melendez was reclined on the leather stool beneath a bar, drinking away his distress but not necessarily disregarding the promise of intoxication upshots that would occur later. A pink police would noisily drag across the plane countertop stopping short just of his elbow and palm that supported his face. The bartender funded him a quirk of the neck and when Melendez sees to the right of the room, a woman is staring at him, smiling. She is lithe, with olive skin and highlighted curls that is conspicuous enough to make him think of Dr. Browne and the moment she had been over him when he was in that hospital bed. And when her lipstick-covered lips converge on the air emitting from his own lips, he adjourned the contact by announcing his leave to the bathroom but he finds the night air on his face, and now he's on a doorstep that does not belong to him.

Just a few knocks accumulated the attention of the house's owner. The door creaks open and he is met with outspread, winsome blue eyes that gawk at him for a moment before adverting to the vacantness behind the man. “Dr. Melendez?”

His hands dawdle by his pockets, not entirely inside them but not quite out. He momentarily eyed Murphy’s features and an inaudible sigh emerged from his lips. “My house is too far from here. Yours was just around the corner. Not to mention I shouldn't be driving.”

It was a lame excuse for just wanting company even if it wasn't the most superlative thing to believe. Though, maybe he was a little too drunk to drive. The mute action of the door expanding has Melendez slipping into the room, relieving his face with scented aromas and a sight of new scenery that isn't the bar or the dreary night sky. “I made spaghetti,” spoke Murphy, already in the kitchen and tending to two plates. “It has two different types of cheese as a garnish; parmesan and mascarpone.”

Melendez runs his gaze over the steamy plate of pasta perched in front of him along with a silver utensil. Murphy is moving to retrieve him a glass, and Melendez finds his brows moving. “I don't want any more alcohol.”

“I don't own any alcohol,” Shaun rigidly replied after a long moment. “I am giving you water. You are intoxicated. I can smell the alcohol.” Neil scoffed but took the glass, eagerly swallowed it down and moved for the food. Shaun isn't exactly eating, just in the seat across from him, hands indubitably folded over his lap as his gaze faltered between the walls and Neil. “Are you sad?”

“Why in the world would I be _sad_?” Neil gritted a half of his mouth with a mouthful of garnished noodles. Unceremonious, and also untrue, but he didn't feel the need to tell this man his business. Especially with their ranks.

The man does a vague lower of his eyes from the ceiling, which is coincidentally in the direction of Neil's features. They both knew Shaun suspected the latter, and in a second he would press onto it as if the wound wasn't already aching. “It is okay to be sad. It is not unusual or uncommon for people to go to a bar for comfort. Was it your patient?”

“I don't care about the patient.”

Shaun’s head is in a leisure roll, trailing the solid curve of the couch a few feet away as he delved into Neil’s emotions with nothing but circumstantial recollections and his unwanted probing. “I know you are lying. I also know that she had a big impact on you.”

Occasionally the patients’ personal difficulties affected the doctors more than they should've, which would lead to biased decisions and a respite from the case. Neil never had any inconveniences, and to have Murphy, least of all the rest, figure out that this was one— “I'd seriously rather put a fire out with my face than talk about this right now. I've got a headache, Murphy.”

The prompt measure of the surgeon clattering the utensil to the plate and moving to attempt at standing only to needlessly stumble had the young resident pushing back his own chair with a loud creak, who raced to assist the man in any way he could. “You should sit down, Dr. Melendez. You have a high amount of insobriety that will make you dizzy. And maybe vomit,” Shaun informed him (as if he didn't already know the effects of drinking), who's voice is rather delicate from the abrupt spike in tone from Melendez.

Murphy’s routinely forbearance to visual communication was somewhat stable for a few seconds which allowed Melendez a coherent view of his eyes. It wasn't long at all for his chin to fend off his gaze, and to Melendez he instantly looked uncomfortable. He reluctantly tolerated the infirm hands to bear some weight though he inclined to not have any help at all. Shaun didn't have very good perseverance over his thoughts, and just as the surgeon is comfortably situated against the arm of the couch, Shaun laced his fingers together and pestered him with more questions. “Were you waiting on someone, at the bar? I don't believe that you were alone.”

Neil moved to look up at him, furrowing in slight displeasure at the realisation that masking the words he spoke could never stay hidden from Shaun. “Were you with Claire?”

“Does it matter?” Shaun glances away, unbothered. Neil sighed, leaning into the velvet of the couch. “We’re not together.”

“That is a lie. You like Claire, but you cannot be with her because you are her boss. That is sad.” Shaun looked towards his direction but not necessarily at him. It seemed as if he immensely desired to bring the surgeon to a boiling point, even if he failed to comprehend the significance on his words. “I like someone, too.”

Neil visibly grimaced because Shaun’s wording may have not been the best even if he hadn't intended it to be that way. Two fingers raise to pinch the elevated bridge of his nose. Shaun doesn't understand that he is irritated with the subject. “Lea, right?”

“No. Lea has a boyfriend, but she told me to tell you that that ‘ _someone_ ,’ is you.” Perhaps he thought nothing of his tone, or maybe he overlooked it as something that was genuinely inconsequential, and his aspects, which was not in the slightest reconstructed, proved it. “I am going to go get you a thermometer. Feeling your forehead may not be very accurate.”

With the faint air he's given from Murphy’s exit, which he watches, Neil is stifled with a series of contentious thought that does not leave him in the best sound condition. And for a variety of reasons, he could imagine the sense behind what exactly was likeable about that as a thermometer is curtly moved to his mouth. “101°. You should lie down.”

“It's just an effect of the partial hangover. Out of everything, I'd expect you to know that first,” Melendez would mentally shrug, counting in a sly smile as he returned the tool. His mindful shifting assists him as he grasp the remote to the television in front of them. “I'm sure you watch TV. How about Netflix?”

Shaun doesn't give the TV anything more than a glance as he moved to sit aside the cardinal surgeon. “I watch cable.”

Neil leisurely shifted to note the bland faire-skinned face, stunned for a second. He emitted a breathy chuckle which raised awareness to his evident amusement. “You don't know what Netflix is.”

It was not an obligation for the brunet to respond. In fact, the oblivious ridden over the resident's face further enlightened him. “Well, it’s like cable but most of the time, it’s better depending on what you wanna watch.”

Shaun affirmed his words affably, though he didn't particularly agree with him. Melendez worked the smart TV, utilised the app with his personal information, much to Shaun's disarray. “I don't like cartoons,” he blurted quietly, briefly recalling on some memories. His blue eyes thin out as he reads the selected title with some precision. “Grey’s Anatomy?”

“It’s a medical show. I'm sure it’ll be to your liking.”

“Okay.” Murphy rearranged his position to make it more convenient, alighting his connected hands over his lap.

Neil’s headache hadn't eased over the minutes he'd been here. To tell the truth, it was more of the resident's tiring questions that made it than the effects of the alcohol. In the initial minutes of the episode, he is poised enough to glance at the resident at his side, give a consoling look that could almost go neglected if he hadn't been careful enough. He had, however, and Shaun is standing abruptly. “I am tired. When you feel better, you can leave. Goodnight!” And Neil smirks, his gaze ambivalent between watching the man leave or the playing episode, but either way he'd stay a little longer.


	5. In Dishabille.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaun and Neil share some intimacy in Neil’s apartment.

The unfettering of bosom contact does not go permitted, is follow up by balmy air and gentle hums of objection as the young resident takes to mind the gravity of the situation, blinking fondly. There is a hand moving to thumb the fair skin of his knee, which is mindfully overlooked. “You are very arrogant,” Shaun says, casting aside the physical liaison that happened seconds prior. His lips are still bruised.

“Please don’t make this about my _arrogance_ ,” Neil replies without a hitch, registering the prompt turn the other manages. There is a faint smile at Neil’s lips when he spoke, still lingers, burns more as his palm overruns the bareness of Shaun’s knee.

“You were also very brash.”

Brash, meaning that Neil Melendez’s venturing for intimacy with the young resident had been too overconfident, practically a train-wreck of overly confident pick-up lines. “How does it feel, Shaun?” Melendez asks him as they’re let up in the lounge room with a few other surgeons and residents.

Shaun looks at him curiously. “How does what feel?”

“How does it feel to be the only star in the sky?”

Shaun is confused, though the other members in the room choked on their, reasonable, incredulity. Neil meets their gazes with one haste glance, retreats back to perching his chin into his knuckle and simpering at the bland yet, noteworthy twisting features of Shaun Murphy. Despite his chain of prying questions afterwards, Neil thought it had gone well. Now they’re reclined on lustrous wooden floorboards, nearly pressed against the vast window on the top floor which is littered of raindrops, both moving and still. They’re clad only in briefs. The indoor air is enough for Neil to feel thorny goosebumps prod up against the skin of his palm. Shaun’s hands are nimbly together in his lap, and though their eyes are not fused, he knows the surgeon is staring at him.

“I take full responsibility then,” Neil treads the edges of a whisper, not at all attempting to hamper himself from taking away the inches of air between their torsos.

Shaun deliberately rounded his eyes, which are full and aegean a fold more when drowning in the lustreless light of the moon. “I liked it.” Neil feels his chest flood with delight. Shaun gives a partially subdued nod, the skin of his nose mantling a shade of ruby. “I want to have intimate intercourse with you tonight, Dr. Melendez. I want to have sex.”

Shaun is infamous for his valiant words and manner of thinking, but sometimes Neil isn’t prepared. It’s sedulous, made with some respective fashion, but Neil's back is abruptly pressed against the wood of the ground, the resident on him who is silently contemplating an apology. Neil is, however, already foolhardily coasting the red of his tongue over his lips, carefully building a toothy grin as his tanned fingertips run an inch upwards on Shaun’s bare thigh before withdrawing entirely. He sees those round blues and his gut wrenches into nothing short of appeal. “By all means, Murphy. Enlighten me.” And he does.


End file.
